Hunter's Moon by Chuck Logan (english novels to read .TXT) 📕

he spun around and pointed his finger. “What I been trying to tell you is you don’t do so good on your own. You’re walking wounded, another loony like that goddamn Cox. Maston collects you guys. Should keep you in a kennel. You need structure. Man, you’re out in the fuckin’ woods alone.”

He tugged Jerry’s arm. “Tell him, Jerry, you wouldn’t been watchin’ his silly ass the other night, those ole boys from the VFW

would have made him into bait.”

“Speaking of which, I was you I’d run Cox’s name through your computer.”

198 / CHUCK LOGAN

“I’ll make sure Jay walks the line. You take care you do the same.”

“What about Jesse? Anybody ever get her to walk the line?”

“Jessica’s got her faults. But she’s the one who give these people up here hope. We wouldn’t have the new gym or the hospital without her. She holds this community together. Don’t forget that.”

“You through? I’d like to hit the woods. I’m losing daylight,” said Harry.

Jerry Hakala sighed with relief and walked Emery out to the Blazer.

After they left, Harry took the coffee cups to the sink. Something clinked in the one Emery had used. A button. A metal button with a distinctive bellied-out inner curve. The hair at the nape of his neck tingled. It was the missing button from the surplus wool British Army trousers he’d been wearing that morning.

Harry sat quiet as a stick on the ridge overlooking the swamp with the lever-action rifle across his knees as the damp afternoon freshened, bent back on itself, and crunched with cold.

Emery had a point. He did need structure. Now it was a footrace to see whether he could solve the mystery of Chris Deucette before the booze took him down. He grimaced at the rifle in his hands.

He’d meant it, what he’d said to Karson. A Buddhist mosquito had bitten him over there. This tiny inoculation of…

Wife beater, Emery said.

Cathedral silence sifted through the tall pines and Harry remembered why he’d quit hunting. Reminded him of ambushes. Why go hunting when there are supermarkets? That’s what Kate, his wife, had said.

Marrying that woman had been like going through Tet again. A fight in a cramped apartment ended it. She slung an electric frying pan of pork chops at him, he backhanded her

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getting out of the way. An hour later he was in a bar fight. Some asshole pulled a knife. He’d snapped off a pool cue, wound up putting it through the jerk’s neck muscles. Busted. Coulda beat it, self-defense.

Then Kate filed charges, showed up in court with a black eye.

Pregnant.

So his buddies intervened. So Fucking Laos.

When he heard, Randall thought it was folly, taking Hollywood’s deal to get out of jail early, going back as a contract employee. A paid thug.

Six months under the Jolly Roger. Ammo flying in, opium flying out. Powered by amphetamines, he’d prowled the Ho Chi Minh Trail with Vang Pao’s Hmong, calling in airstrikes, trying to close down a ten-mile stretch. When he started they were wheeling supplies down on bicycles. By the time he was nicked in the hip and called it quits, they were driving trucks.

A flock of crows rose silently over the trees and Harry remembered the searching look on the face of that one-legged dude on the street in St. Paul. Those black eyes knew him. Bugged out again.

Not this time. This time out he was going to win.

He shivered and walked back to the lodge. Keep busy. He looked up the name Karson had given him in the local phone book. Dialed Karl Talme’s residence. A woman answered.

“Karl there?”

“Tonight’s Karl’s group night,” said the woman.

“What, AA?”

“No, uh, he and Don Karson, they go to Duluth to this group for men.”

“They run out of men around here?”

“Who is this?”

“Friend of Karson’s. I’ll call back.”

Weird.

Then the call came that Harry had been avoiding. Bud. “I want you to leave. Lock up and leave,” he said in a furry, thoroughly de-toxified voice.

“Who told you?”

200 / CHUCK LOGAN

“Karson called me. He’s a minister, right? So they got me out of group. He said you’ve been drinking. That you’re up there looking for a fight. Let the sheriff watch the place. Get out.”

“Emery’s job is looking the other way. I leave, these bandits will rob you blind.”

“I don’t care. Just get out of there before somebody else gets hurt.”

“Hey, Bud, grow some balls!” Harry didn’t disguise the contempt in his voice.

“You’re back walking on all fours, Harry. You’re going to fuck up. Damnit! Don’t make me come back up there.” Both a threat and a plea.

“Just worry about getting an injunction against Jesse.”

“Christ. You really did that? The funeral?”

“You wanted her served. She’s served. And Becky’s disappeared.

I told Emery; he didn’t seem too concerned.”

“It’s like a different culture up there. They have their own way of doing things. I can’t worry about Becky. I have to let go of all that stuff.”

“Don’t worry, man. I’ll hold down the fort,” said Harry.

“It’s not a fort…” Then Bud erupted. “Goddamnit, I know what you’re doing. You found some…adversity, and you can’t let it go.”

His voice accelerated, “Karson told me about you and Jesse. The way—”

“I gotta go now,” said Harry. He hung up the phone. Almost immediately it rang again. Busy night.

“Hi, remember me? Ginny from the Timber Cruiser?” said a breathy voice.

“Sure, the astrology lady.” Harry grinned. He picked up the button Emery had left, tossed it in the air. Caught it.

“You got the whole town talking about you, pinning Jesse’s ears back with those divorce papers. Shooting at those guys.”

“That why you called, keep me up to speed on the local gossip?”

“Actually I was thinking of going out to the VFW for a HUNTER’S MOON / 201

drink, only thing is, this guy I used to go out with might bother me—”

“And you could use a little male companionship?” Harry grinned.

It was just the oldest setup in the world, baited with pussy and whiskey. Well, why not, as long as he could squeeze